Angels Everywhere - Debbie Macomber [9]
“You were headed toward the Blue Goose?” she asked, realizing now why he’d been so determined to cut through the crowd. He wanted a drink.
“Lady, after the day I’ve had, you’d need a beer too.”
“Don’t,” she pleaded, urgently taking a step toward him.
He glared at her, and his beige trench coat fanned out at his sides. The cold cut through Monica, but it didn’t seem to bother him. “Don’t what?” he demanded impatiently.
“Drink. There are better ways of dealing with problems other than alcohol.”
“Lady . . .”
“My name’s Monica. Monica Fischer,” she said, holding out her hand to him. He looked at it for a moment as if he were going to ignore it, before reluctantly exchanging handshakes.
“And you’re . . .”
“Sorry I ever met you,” he muttered.
“Please, let my friends and me help you,” she said, gesturing toward the ensemble standing on the risers, singing the last of the songs.
“Listen, all I want is a cold beer and some peace and quiet. I’ve been on a stakeout for the past twenty hours and I . . .”
“You’re with the police?”
He hesitated, and it was evident by the way he glanced longingly toward the Blue Goose that he had other matters on his mind. “I’m a private detective,” he admitted. “There, does that satisfy you?”
“You must be tired,” she tried again, thinking fast, hoping to convince him of the error of his ways.
“And getting more so every minute. Good-bye, Marcia.”
“Monica,” she corrected. She hurried after him, convinced she owed him this much for having saved her from certain injury.
“Whatever,” he said, without looking her way. “Have a good day.”
“Has anyone ever talked to you about the direction your life is headed?” she asked, scurrying to keep pace with him. She was tall, but he was taller and it took two of her strides to equal one of his.
“Are you going to preach at me next? Trust me, the last thing I need now is a sermon.”
“Not if you promise me you won’t drink.”
“Listen,” he said, stopping abruptly, “I’m trying to be as polite as I can, but my patience for this malarkey is long gone. I’m a responsible adult and I don’t have a problem with alcohol, so if you don’t mind, I’d prefer to be left alone.”
“You’re drinking beer, aren’t you, and it’s barely afternoon,” Monica insisted. “Anyone who needs alcohol this early in the day must be addicted.”
“Fine, then, to satisfy you, I’ll order coffee. There, are you happy?”
Monica knew a lie when she heard one. “Don’t try to appease me with lies,” she said, glaring at him.
They’d crossed the street by this time and he continued to ignore her as much as possible, but Monica was making that difficult. She didn’t know what was driving her to behave so uncharacteristically. Normally she wasn’t nearly as aggressive; she was weak on evangelism, but this man desperately needed help and she was returning a favor. He’d saved her and now it was her turn to do him a good deed and rescue him, although it was clear he didn’t appreciate or welcome her efforts.
They’d reached the Blue Goose and Monica hurled herself against the thick wood door, flinging out her arms until she stood spread-eagled across the entrance.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, glaring at her.
“I’m saving you from yourself.”
“Go save someone else, would you?” His eyes were formidable, cold and cutting, but Monica refused to back away.
“I’m doing this for your own good.”
He clamped his mouth closed and appeared to be counting to ten. His head nodded with each number and by the time he reached eight, his patience had evaporated. “Either you move or I’ll be forced to move you myself and I guarantee you won’t approve of my methods.”
Monica was saved from having to make a decision when the door opened and she was momentarily pushed to one side. By the time she’d turned around and recovered, her reluctant hero had disappeared. It didn’t take her two seconds to know where he’d gone. For half a heartbeat she toyed with the notion of going inside the Blue Goose after him.
Defeated and mildly discouraged, Monica trudged her way across the street.